


A Break in the Clouds

by moonflowers



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Getting Together, James to the Rescue, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Supposed to be silly but grew feelings, and sharing a horse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: The end of his nose brushed the back of the man's hood; he smelt of oil and salt and wet canvas. For the first time that evening, Thomas was thankful he was cold and miserable - it provided a distraction from the firmness of the body pressed against his front, and how inconvenient it would be for Thomas to crave it.In which Thomas is lost in the rain, and rather enamoured with his rescuer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me thinking hmm what if James never joined the navy/left England? Would he somehow meet Thomas anyway? Of course he would.

Thomas hated to be disrespectful regarding his old friend, but he was beginning to wish he'd not bothered to make the journey to visit him at all. It was close on three hundred miles from London to Cornwall, the roads were poor, and it had rained the past two days solid. Lack of sleep and horrendous weather alone may not have been enough to put Thomas in such low spirits, but his own foolish decision had certainly tipped him over the edge into a foul mood. Despite the relentless weather and the lateness of the hour, Thomas had instructed the carriage driver to continue on through the last village they'd come to, bypass the glow of the inviting looking inn, and to press on to old Brown's house. 

They were making their way swiftly along a twisting, rutted road God knew where - though Thomas had the vague notion of the sea being to his right - when there was an awful crack and a bump, and the carriage jerked and tilted horribly to one side before jolting to a stop. 

"What the devil was that?" he called once he'd caught his breath, knuckles white where he'd gripped at the seat to stay upright.

"Sorry sir," the driver, Perkins, appeared at the door, pale and grim, "we hit a bump in the road, sir. The front wheel's gone."

"Gone?"

"Broken, sir."

"Well, can you fix it?"

"Me sir? No, I know nothing about fixing carriages. I just drive them, sir."

"Oh, for the love of - " Thomas held his tongue. The man might have been verging on useless - hired by his father to keep watch on Thomas more than for any practical reason, most likely - but the broken wheel could hardly be blamed on him. If anything, it was Thomas' fault for not stopping for the night when they had the chance. 

"Fine," he slid tentatively along the seat towards the door, half expecting the carriage to give way underneath him at any moment. "How far is it back to the village?"

"A good ways along sir," said Perkins, as Thomas pulled himself out through the odd tilt of the carriage door, wincing at the shock of cold rain on his face, "about the same to Mr Brown's house as back to the village, I'd reckon."

"Right."

Thomas was utterly stumped. The rain was falling heavy and steadfast, the chill of it seeping down his collar and through his clothing within moments. The horse pulling the carriage was thoroughly disquieted by all the upset, snorting and squealing as Perkins worked as quickly as he could with wet, fumbling fingers to unhitch the poor beast from the lop-sided carriage. Thomas' trunk had slid from the roof, the straps holding it snapping when the carriage fell, and it lay on its end in the rough gorse and heather. The only light came from one of the lanterns affixed to the carriage, the other cracked and gone out, its sickly yellow doing little to illuminate the thick purple-black of the clifftops around them. And all the while, Thomas was aware of the crushing weight of the sea, invisible in the night but close by, dark and churning below. He wasn't certain how far from the edge of the cliffs the road ran, but was painfully aware that a few short steps in the wrong direction would end in disaster. 

He was spared from worrying over his predicament any further by a shout and the sound of horse hooves on the gritty road, barely distinguishable over the rain and the sea against the rocks. 

"Hello there!" the approaching rider called over the roar of the wind, "are you alright?" 

"We've lost a wheel," Thomas raised his voice so as to be heard over the weather. On any other occasion, he might have made a dry remark about it being a pleasant spot to stop a while on the road, but it was hardly the time. 

"I'll take a look, if you like," the man slowed his horse to halt beside the useless carriage. He spoke with a west country accent, though not as pronounced as most Thomas had met on the road, as if he'd spent some time away.

"Please don't trouble yourself," Thomas began haltingly, because as reluctant as he was to cause a fuss, he really did need the help. But the man paid him no mind, and had already swung himself down from the horse's back before Thomas could say anything more. He ducked to look at where the carriage tilted, blinking rain from his eyes as he made a quick study of the splintered and warped wood. Only a moment passed before he delivered his verdict.

"It's fucked," he turned back to look at Thomas, eyes bright with a grim humour from under the dark of his hood. 

"Ah," Thomas pushed his sodden hair from his face," I feared as much."

"Where are you bound?"

"A friend of mine lives a way outside the village," Thomas said, "a Mr Brown."

"Why the hell didn't you stop for the night at the inn?" the man said, face scored deep in a frown. "Why carry on in this weather?"

"I could ask the same of you," Thomas said, no longer in the mood for niceties.

The man barked out a laugh, mostly lost to the wind. "I suppose you could."

"I was eager to get there before morning," Thomas said, wrapping his arms about himself in a vain effort to keep himself warm. His jacket was long since soaked through, dressed inadequately as he was for the weather. He saw the man notice the shiver that ran through him, and the return of his frown that followed. 

"I know the place," he said, after a moment's thought. "Look, let me take you on to your friend."

"I really couldn't - "

"I'm headed along this road as it is," the man said, his firm voice allowing no room for argument, "you'd just as well come with me, if you're so keen to get there. Your driver can ride the horse back to the village and secure some help from the inn to fetch your trunk and get the carriage back in the morning."

"I - " it was on the tip of Thomas' tongue to refuse again, not wanting to cause such fuss over his stupid miscalculation. But really, he had little choice."Alright. Thank you."

The man took charge after that; he sent Perkins with the carriage horse back towards town with firm instruction on where to seek help, Thomas looking on, now numb with cold.

"Come," he turned to Thomas when Perkins was on his way, and held out a hand.

"Excuse me?" said Thomas blankly, thoughts dulled along with his body. he couldn't feel his ears.

"You'll need help getting up," he jerked his head towards his horse, "I'm surprised you're still on your feet at all, after all this."

"I'm not quite so delicate as that, thank you," Thomas said more primly than he'd meant, but accepted the offer all the same, the man's hand firm around his shin as he helped him spring up onto the horse's back. The man didn't answer, but Thomas both heard and felt his throaty laugh against his chest as he settled himself in the saddle in front of him. The horse shifted, and Thomas was mildly concerned it wouldn't be up to carrying both of their weight - they were neither of them small men - but it was a stout creature with a heavy neck and hooves large as dinner plates, and seemed the least troubled by the situation of them all. 

Thomas couldn't have said how long it took them to make the remainder of the journey across the clifftops, but he did know that he was enjoying gripping the man in front of him, the pair of them pressed close astride the horse, rather more than was welcome. It had been far too long since he'd had a man in his bed - Miranda had a new beau, and in their first flush of enjoyment in each other, were in the house often, and Thomas didn't particularly care to trawl the streets in search of a suitable partner for himself. Besides, there was always work to be done. The steady but swift enough pace the man was setting across the paths he undoubtedly knew better than Thomas caused them to rock together with the horse's stride. Once, the horse stumbled and Thomas jolted forward, momentarily losing his grip around the man's waist and his hand falling to grab at his thigh to regain his balance, cold and tight under his fingertips. The end of his nose brushed the back of the man's hood; he smelt of oil and salt and wet canvas. For the first time that evening, Thomas was thankful he was cold and miserable - it provided a distraction from the firmness of the body pressed against his front, and how inconvenient it would be for Thomas to crave it.

At long last, a glow of orange lamplight appeared in the gloom, blurred by the rain, where old Brown's house lay comparatively sheltered in a dip in the rocks. It was terribly bleak, and Thomas wouldn't much fancy living there permanently himself, but in his current state it was the most welcome sight in the world. The man jumped down from the horse when they drew close, and banged hard upon the door. To Thomas it seemed a rather rude way to announce one's arrival, but then how else would they be heard, above the tempestuous rushing of the wind and rain and sea?

By the time he'd stiffly manoeuvred himself down from the saddle, Brown had appeared at the door, the welcome sight of a merrily burning fire in the grate and the smell of wood-smoke giving Thomas the resolve to straighten up on legs made weak from being unaccustomed to time on horseback. 

"Thomas!" Brown was gaping at them, already dressed for bed, dressing gown tied firm about him. "And James my dear fellow. What on earth are the pair of you doing here at this hour on such an abominable night?" He stood aside to wave Thomas towards the house, the man - James, apparently - going to see to his horse.

 _James?_ Thomas was all for informality, but Brown being on first name terms with his rescuer took him by surprise. Did they know each other well?

"I know you were due to arrive tonight, but I thought you would've had the sense to have waited this frightful weather out at the inn, my dear boy," said Brown fondly as he ushered Thomas inside the house, "you know I wouldn't have begrudged you keeping me waiting until morning."

"I know," Thomas once again was feeling rather an idiot, "it was reckless. I wanted to arrive tonight as planned, I'm keen to hear your views on - "

"Straight to business, as ever!" Brown shook his head in exasperation. "Do shut up about that, Thomas, and tell me how you came to arrive with James, of all people."

The man himself chose that moment to reappear, still dripping wet, and throwing the door shut to keep the weather out. He turned to see them both watching him and stood straighter, no doubt guessing they were talking of him. He'd pushed the hood of his cloak back, and Thomas was both dismayed and pleased to find him terribly attractive, if rough around the edges. 

"Ah. Well," Thomas began, dragging his eye away from the taught line of the man's jaw and the thick stubble growing along it, wondering how he was going to explain the scenario without sounding even more of a fool than he already felt, "Mr - ?"

"McGraw," James said when he realised Thomas was waiting to hear his name, "James McGraw."

"Mr McGraw here rather saved the day," Thomas said, watching the man as he did so. He seemed to be standing almost unnaturally still, as if he was purposefully keeping himself from fidgeting under Thomas' scrutiny. "The carriage hit a rock on the coast path, and as good as took the wheel off. Mr McGraw happened on us not long after, and offered to bring me the rest of the way himself."

"Good heavens," said Brown, looking between the pair of them with surprise and amusement, "as riveting as your tale must be, I'm afraid I must wait a while to hear it in full - the two of you are dripping all over the floor, and I won't have you catching chills on my account. Go and dry off, the pair of you, and I'll fetch something to warm you both."

He and James looked blankly at each other for a moment after Brown had strode off to the kitchen with purpose, until Thomas smiled politely and led the way upstairs. His past visits to Brown's home - along with much of his clothing being too fine for the rough country - had left him with good enough knowledge of where to locate the spare things he kept for guests.  
There was a fire lit in the room Thomas normally took when he stayed, probably in an attempt to ward off the cold night as well as in readiness for Thomas' arrival, since Brown had been unsure of Thomas' joining him that evening. It was homely enough, the ceiling low and dim and blankets smelling of cedar, floorboards swollen and bumpy with sea salt. The room was intended as the master, but Brown preferred to take the smaller chamber and bed across the hall since the passing of his wife some years ago; he'd said it was more pleasant than sleeping next to an empty space. 

Thomas headed straight to the chest that he knew held a small stack of spare shirts and breeches, rummaged about until he found a set for himself and McGraw. He'd been lost in his own thoughts, and so when he turned around, it was somewhat of a surprise to see the other man stripping down perfunctorily, flinging his sodden things to dry over a chair by the hearth. He was shorter than Thomas, but of a heavier build; arms and chest thickened with the muscle that came with a hard working life, small, old scars healed messily. After he'd briskly dried himself off, he looked over to Thomas expectantly, who realised he'd been so thoroughly distracted by the expanse of Mr McGraw's bared skin, he'd neglected to get out of his wet things himself.

"Here," he plastered on a smile, handed over the dry clothes to him. 

"Thank you."

Thomas was undecided whether he was grateful or not for the fact that the other man was dressed and had returned downstairs before he'd even managed to unpick the soaked and tightly twisted knot of his neck cloth. It was for the best perhaps, as he very much doubted the man wished to witness him fumble his way through changing his clothes; half-drowned and skin blotchy from damp and cold, he must have looked a state. But he was thankful for the firelight - the rain had made the man's hair appear dark, but drier now and with the light on it, he realised it was in truth a lovely deep red. 

"There you are Thomas," Brown said when he came downstairs a while later. He and McGraw were seated by the larger fire in sitting room, drinks in hand. The latter was sprawled in his seat, somehow still commanding respect as he did so, shoulders relaxed and legs indolently apart, breeches pulled taut across his thighs. "Here, that'll warm you," Brown handed Thomas a glass of his own. Thomas looked away from McGraw to thank him, and took a sip. The drink was strong, sweet and thick with honey, but leaving the burn of alcohol on his tongue. Lord knew he needed it. 

"Thomas here was a pupil of mine at Eton," Brown said to McGraw. "Only one in his class that wasn't a complete idiot or dull as shit. The boys there have a tendency to be one or the other, you see, James," he said conspiratorially. "One of the few pupils I've kept in touch with, owing to the fact that we take a similar view when it comes to politics, among other things. Thomas enjoys to pick at my poor old brain."

McGraw raised an eyebrow, mouth upturned in a doubting half-smile. "Is that so?"

"Certainly," Brown nodded. "It's why he's here, I believe."

"Come now," Thomas was keen to defend himself, "you know I enjoy your company, you old scoundrel. But as you mention it, my father - "

"Oh hush dear boy," Brown waved a placating hand, "plenty of time for that later, when your head's cleared of the damp and your ears have stopped ringing from the wind. Now, I want you to meet James McGraw. Formally, that is. I've long since wished you two to meet."

"Oh?" said Thomas. As fortuitous as meeting McGraw had been for him that night, he was curious as to why Brown expressly wished it.

"Yes. Something of a pillar of the community, is James here," Brown beamed at him, and McGraw looked down to the floor, uncomfortable, face pinked by the firelight and glowing words. With every mouthful of drink he swallowed, Thomas' fancy of pressing his fingers to the flushed skin, of feeling the warmth of it for himself, grew stronger. Fortunately, what Brown had to say next cleared his thoughts of his no doubt unwelcome admiration. "Raised by his grandfather, took on his fishing boat when he died and built up something of a big business. He's spent a life at sea, Thomas, which is more than you or I can boast, and is therefore likely to be a great deal more useful in your latest venture."

That made it sound like a folly, a fancy. But Thomas' vision for Nassau was nothing so trifling as that, and the mention of it drew him out of his fanciful thoughts and back what truly mattered. "You think so?" He regarded the man over the top of his glass, McGraw looking back at him just as evenly. One of the lamps stuttered, caught by a draught, thick black smoke curling sluggishly towards the ceiling. He felt himself smile unbidden. "Well then, I'd very much like to hear your thoughts, Mr McGraw."

It was far from how Thomas had anticipated his evening would go, but, as he began to question James on seafaring and what knowledge he had of Nassau, he realised that it may not have been such a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a visual for Brown, halfway through writing this, he suddenly became Jim Broadbent in my head.  
> The rating will 100% be going up next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a week later than I wanted it to be, woops.

After several hours of drink and debate, it had been thoroughly proved to Thomas that his original assessment of James McGraw as a gruff and straightforward, if rather dashing, country man needed re-evaluating. It was clear he was much more than the rugged local with convenient timing that Thomas had taken him to be. He'd listened intently to Thomas' plans for Nassau, asked concise and practical questions, and only laughed at him three times. It had crossed his mind once or twice whether James knew he was titled - had Brown told him? Unlikely, as it wasn't the sort of thing that interested his old schoolmaster. He was always, and rightfully so, more concerned about what was in a pupil's head rather than the names on his family tree. And in truth, he wasn't sure if James would treat him any differently for knowing. Thomas was glad he didn't. Though he'd been sceptical of Brown's assurances that they would get along famously, James was just as sharp-witted as Thomas was himself. Well-read - partly in thanks to his friendship with Brown - and eloquent and dryly good humoured, and he insisted on continuing to be ever so handsome, and... It was all terribly inconvenient. Well, Thomas was well-practised at keeping himself in check, when it proved necessary. 

It was just as productive and enjoyable an evening - if not more so, due to it's informal nature - as any Thomas had spent in London society. He was thoroughly warmed up and dried out thanks to the roaring fire Brown would stoke every so often, and the sweet, thick drink he kept topping up their glasses with. It was all rather merry, really, if Thomas ignored the way his right leg was getting over hot from sitting too close to the flames. And the odd way in which he caught James looking at him now and then, eyes narrowed and breath held as if waiting to catch Thomas out, to either pick a hole in the weave of his argument or to see right through it entirely. The lamp had burned out, and left a dark, oily smudge up the wall.

He'd barely noticed the time slip by, but it had grown ever so late, and the weather so increasingly awful that it became apparent James was just as unlikely to be leaving Brown's house that night as Thomas was. He'd had rather a lot to drink too, as they all had - he seemed steady enough, but Thomas would guess riding his horse back along that treacherous cliff path was still somewhat undesirable. Brown clearly agreed.

"Come now, I insist," their host said, with the slightest of stumbles as he stood and set his hand firmly on James' shoulder, "I shan't have you riding off into that," he gestured out to the rain still pounding at the window, "bloody stay, James, and be done with it."

"I don't want to intrude," James said, eyes darting to Thomas and back again, "I've interrupted your friend's visit long enough - "

"Nonsense," said Brown at the same time Thomas let out a rather undignified snort of disdain.

"It was hardly an interruption," he said, "I'd not be here at all if it weren't for you." That time, James' eye fell on him and stayed there. Thomas wasn't sure if he held his gaze out of stubbornness or being powerless to break it.

"Precisely," Brown said, "I told you Thomas was a man who sees sense."

"...Alright," James agreed with some reluctance, "I'll stay."

"Splendid, splendid," Brown said, leaning heavily on James's shoulder. "Now, I'll see to things down here, and you two go on up. You'll have to make do with sharing the room of course, but I don't think that should cause any disagreements, seeing as how famously the two of you have been getting along this evening, eh?"

"Oh," Thomas spoke before he could stop himself. In all his half-formed and dangerous hope that James would stay, he'd neglected to consider just how close he'd be staying, if the situation arose. This wasn't a house like his own, where he could indulge in thoughts of James while the man in question slept safely a room or two away. "We'll manage, I'm sure."

"Good show," Brown said with a bleary smile, and staggered off to lock up and put out the lamps. "Night all."

Thomas chanced a look at James. His jaw was clenched and his brow creased, but he said nothing further on it, just mumbled a word of thanks to Brown and set off upstairs. 

Foolishly, Thomas had half expected some slightly awkward back and forth and well meant insistences that one of them take the floor, and the other take the bed - he was certainly tired enough to sleep on the bare floorboards himself. But then he remembered they were both grown men, and them sleeping in such close proximity was nothing to be looked askance at, under the circumstances. Or that was what Thomas told himself anyway, as he wondered idly whether James ran hot or cold when he slept.

By the time he'd dithered his way to the conclusion that it would be fine, James was already once again stripping out of his things, this time in readiness for bed. Thomas couldn't believe his luck in having witnessed it twice over. He couldn't help but gape the the bunched muscles of his back and shoulders as he tossed the shirt aside, wondered how he might ease away the tension there. But there wasn't much time to dwell on it before James was dressed only in the borrowed breeches and had clambered into the bed, taking the side closest to the wall. 

Then Thomas' wayward thoughts circled back into sense, and he remembered he was also required to change for the night. He'd never once been bashful in his life, but he came pretty close in that moment, pulling at the laces of his shirt and watching the careful rise and fall of James' bare back. He needn't have been so - James remained pointedly turned away from him for the duration of his undressing. The lone candle on the washstand guttered in the draught that skittered in under the door frames, and Thomas ducked to blow it out, using the last light of the fire in the grate to see by. He stubbed his toe on the uneven floorboards, and was thankful James wasn't able to bear witness.

He took care when climbing into the bed alongside James, not wanting to knock or jostle him, though he knew the man couldn't possibly have fallen asleep so quickly. Once settled, he was overly conscious of his body, wary of moving too much and disturbing James. He lay on his back, watching the faint shadows cast by the embers flutter on the ceiling and fill the gaps between the beams, the blankets on top of them scratchy and weighty, their musty cedar scent making his nose itch. The wind continued to whistle in through the hairline cracks around the windowpanes, the rain a loud and steadfast patter on the roof. He couldn't hear the ocean but, as when they were travelling, he was inescapably aware of it's presence, the expanse and force of it in the dark crashing at the rocks below. The tension that lay between them was palpable, not awkwardly so, but expectant and unavoidable, if Thomas wanted to get any sleep at all. The warmth of James' body was beginning to spread until Thomas fancied he could almost feel it through the sheets, and he reflexively tightened his fingers on the mattress to keep himself still. The silence was insufferable, and Thomas had just opened his mouth to break it, when he felt James heave a great sigh, and heavily turned himself over to face Thomas. 

"You really think it can be done?" he said softly, as though there were other people in the house who might have overheard them, other than the old man across the landing who would by now be snoring loud enough to challenge the restless churning of the sea.

"What can be done?" Thomas said, voice equally low, as if afraid to break the murmuring quiet that lay between them. He turned to face James too, eye dropping briefly to his bare chest despite himself, dragging up and along to James' collarbone, his throat, bobbing as he swallowed before speaking. 

"Bringing Nassau back to heel."

"I must."

"Would it not be easier to leave well enough alone? It seems to me an awful lot of trouble to go to for men who most likely won't appreciate it."

"Perhaps," said Thomas honestly. It wasn't without risk. "But I've been given the opportunity to help shape the New World, albeit only a part, into what it should have been for England from the start."

"And what's that?" said James wryly.

"A second chance. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try. It's too important not to."

James frowned, but seemed to accept his answer. After that he didn't mention Thomas' motives again, but instead picked out more small practicalities of the plan that might need rethinking, mostly minor complications linked to seafaring that may not have occurred to Thomas until further down the line. It was at once odd and familiar, intimate and distant, to be lying in the same bed as a man he'd met only hours before and discussing Thomas' plans for the pirates of New Providence. The thing he could most liken it to was his time at school, when boys would sneak across the dormitories after lights out to creep into a friend's bed, to whisper and laugh about God knows what. He couldn't remember now.

"You're married?" James said, after a short lull in their exchange. Had Thomas mentioned Miranda? Probably. Or maybe Brown had told him... his eye fell on his own hand, holding the pillow beneath his head. His ring. Of course.

"Yes," he said. He'd not lied about it before, and wouldn't now. "She's my greatest friend. I love her dearly."

"Hm. She doesn't travel with you?"

"No. She's spending a few days with a gentleman friend of hers." James didn't seem the type to be shocked by such an implication, nor to judge he and Miranda harshly for it.

"I see." Something in James' expression faltered then, something that Thomas' couldn't quite decipher despite normally being adept at reading people, before it settled back to practised neutrality. "She does so often?"

"Now and then. Our marriage is a loving one, make no mistake about that, but it is... unconventional." He shouldn't have said such things so freely, but Gods he wanted the man, both mind and body to open for him. Thomas knew it was foolish to trust someone so implicitly after such a short time, but he felt safe enough to do so, and James had utterly enchanted him. Perhaps Thomas shouldn't have drunk so much after the day he'd had.

"I see." James was watching his mouth. Thomas was studying the scattered burst of freckles across James' nose. 

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Married."

"No."

"Ah."

Thomas could feel James' breath on his face, warm, sweet and spiced with the drink they'd shared, could feel the dip in the mattress where he lay alongside him, could smell that same oil-canvas-sea salt scent of him that he had when they'd ridden together on James' horse. Caution be damned - Thomas would be taking numerous risks with his plan for Nassau on behalf of others, surely he could slip in this one selfish risk for himself.

Then they were kissing, and Thomas felt all the events of the day lift then settle, like they'd all been leading up to this last piece before the fell into place.

James inhaled sharply when Thomas bit softly at his lip, kissing him back with more vigour than before. His beard was rough on Thomas' chin, a pleasing, ticklish scratch. He couldn't have said if it was one or both of them that moved, but the length of the their bodies were pressed fast together, Thomas slipping his leg in between James', hand going up to tangle in his hair as they tugged off any remaining clothes. At first, he seemed to bow under Thomas, his hands tentative and exploratory as they ran light up Thomas' back, letting Thomas push him gently back into the pillows. In the next moment, he'd hooked a leg around Thomas' hip and rolled them over, Thomas on his back and James above him. They broke apart, breathing hard, and Thomas looked up at the man now sitting astride him with amusement.

"You're beautiful," he said before he could help himself. Because James was - dark red hair in disarray from where Thomas had run his fingers through it, eyes sharp and blown wide as he watched the man beneath him, chest flushed, rising and falling quick after the exertion of their kisses, thick arms and shoulders covered in a smattering of freckles that Thomas hadn't noticed properly until now, the last of the firelight hitting his skin and turning them gold and dark. But never mind how he looked; even without that, Thomas had spent the evening in his company, and never before had he been so captivated so quickly since Miranda.

"I don't know about that," James said quietly, his smile uncomfortable, eyes skittering away to look at the floor rather than at Thomas. Ah. He'd said too much. Thomas half expected him to clamber off of him and sleep elsewhere. 

"Well I do," Thomas reached up to rest a hand on James' arm, drawing his attention back to him, "and I would have you know it too."

Before James could argue to the contrary, Thomas ran his hands firmly up and along the thickness of James' thighs, grasping at his hips to hitch the two of them closer together. All hesitancy was gone from James' face when Thomas looked up at him again, replaced by a sort of hunger that suited him so much more, eyes narrowed with purpose and mouth parted. A look which intensified as Thomas took both of them in hand.

James' mouth slackened at the touch, quick, ragged sigh falling from his throat, head tipped back at the sensation of Thomas' hot skin on his own. Thomas wished he had the patience for painting; it would have made a beautiful piece. He dragged his hand, purposefully slow, torturously soft, once, twice, three times, before James as good as _growled_ \- God help him - and rocked himself forward, placing a hand either side of Thomas' head on the pillow. Thomas had a moment to enjoy the wild light in his eyes, mere inches away in the gloom, before James thrust forward into his grip, quick and hard, and he was equally lost in the pleasure of it. 

He couldn't tell if the rushing in his ears was his own blood thrumming through his veins, James' harsh breaths, or the sea pounding at the foot of the cliffs. Perhaps all three, in a giddy, swirling chase that left him gasping, disorientated with his desire for the man above him. The pace at which James was rocking them together grew faster and uneven, the weight of his thighs and backside hot and sweat damp where he sat over Thomas, thick muscle born of a life at sea bunching under the increasingly frantic wandering of Thomas' free hand. 

"Thomas..."

His fingers were pressed into James' flesh hard enough to leave a bruise, a thought that alarmed and excited Thomas simultaneously; worried he was causing pain but delighted to know James would be wearing marks left by him. But the blissful gasp that had fallen from James' lips at Thomas' tightened grip was enough to reassure him - James was as thrilled by the thought of it as he. 

As enchanting as James was to watch; the heaving of his thick chest mottled with those delightful freckles, damp hair fallen over his eyes, the purposeful roll of his hips, Thomas found he could no longer bear the distance between them.

"James, I need..."

He didn't finish, instead pulled himself up to sit so James was still astride his lap, now chest to chest, the hand that wasn't wrapped around them both going to the back of James' neck to tangle in his hair. Thomas kissed him fiercely, with none of the finesse he normally prided himself on when taking someone to bed, but with all the need that had been building ever since James had looked up at him from under his hood and told him his carriage was fucked. 

They finished like that, mouths open and breathing heavy in between frantic kisses. James' arms were wrapped as close as he could get them around Thomas, tense but careful, as if worried he'd grip too tight and he'd break apart and disappear. Thomas' hand grew clumsy in his haste, knuckles bumping against James' stomach as he worked them closer to the edge. 

He'd thought of the weather as tempestuous earlier, but the same was true of James - lulling soft one moment, then all unbridled passion the next, as strong and helpless as water on rock.

Spent, they both collapsed down onto the mattress, James half atop Thomas. He was still breathing hard, hot and quick against Thomas' neck. Thomas absently rubbed his fingers over the warm stretch of James' back, James kissing blindly at his jaw, stubble catching. Their legs were twisted together in the sheets, and James' elbow in his ribs would be very uncomfortable before long, but he didn't want to move. Thomas was starting to feel light with the dangerous hope that whatever this fluttering little potential thing between them was would last longer than his visit would, that James wouldn't think differently of him come morning.

~

Thomas woke early the next morning. He always did after drink, much to Miranda's annoyance; frequently woken as she was by her husband's fidgeting when she'd much prefer to continue sleeping off the night before. The storm had passed, leaving the early morning still and grey, but much brighter. He could barely hear the sea now. The sea birds were evident though, crying and screeching to each other as they whirled about the cliffs, hopping about on the shore and picking through detritus washed up in the night. He felt a pleasant heaviness in his body and a lightness in his mind that he couldn't quite place the source of, until the arm draped around his middle tightened, and he turned his head to see the man lying next to him.

As intimately familiar as he'd become with James the night before, to see him there was... not a surprise exactly, more a reminder of his incredible luck to have happened upon such a man. The grey of dawn suited him, the red in his hair more vibrant against the white of the pillow, skin pale and freckles stark across his shoulders. He'd been beautiful the night before; golden and gilded from the firelight, but now, face slack with sleep and breathing even, he seemed more tangible, and less like something from a fevered dream. As pleasant as it might have been to pull James closer to him and the two of them lie in peace a while longer, it wasn't long before Thomas' predictable restlessness set in, and he had to get up. It seemed James was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, and remained oblivious as Thomas eased himself from his loose grip, softly kissed his forehead in apology for leaving him to wake alone.

After Thomas had dressed, he walked down to the small beach below the house, at the bottom of the cliffs. Brown at least knew him and his habits well enough to guess where he'd gone, if James should ask. A light breeze blew in across the water, cold and clean, rejuvenating now rather than the dangerous chill of the night before. The sky was smooth and blank, scattered with the darting silhouettes of the gulls. As he did every time he visited Brown, Thomas made a promise to himself to get out of the city more often, blow away the cobwebs and soot and politics of town for a while. It was a promise he'd struggled to keep so far - truthfully, he enjoyed the bustle and activity of London life, as did Miranda. But even he could admit the smell of cold salt air and sea spray was more bearable than the grime of the city and it's over-perfumed drawing rooms. 

He heard James approaching before he saw him, the crunch of shingle and seashells under his boots. Thomas kept his eyes to the horizon until he drew level. 

"I hadn't pictured you as an early riser," James said by way of greeting.

Thomas turned his head to look at him, keenly aware of the foot of space between them. "Nor I you a late one." He was joking, and assumed from the way James' mouth twitched that he knew it. 

"I was - that is - do you know how long you'll be staying?" James said haltingly, and Thomas was endeared to him more than ever, to hear a man so seemingly sure of himself stumble over his words. "I'd enjoy your company again. To speak more with you about your work, I mean." Though he stood stiff and perfectly upright as he spoke, his attention was fixed on the grey sand and pebbles underfoot, the colour high in his cheeks. Oh. Thomas dared to hope, and took his uncharacteristic fumbling as a sign James had been affected by their meeting just as much as he. 

"Oh?" he said, carefully light. The hope was growing in him by the second, but he didn't want to push too soon and overstep - he'd done so before on occasion, and dashed everything before it had a chance.

"I just wanted to say that I'll help you if I can," James said, voice rough and quiet, though he'd regained his composure enough to turn his head to look up at Thomas properly.

"With what exactly, Mr McGraw?" Thomas knew he was being obtuse, but it was worth it to see the flicker of humour behind James' still carefully severe expression. 

"Nassau," James said, small, fond smile lifting his mouth, but eyes serious, "if I can help you, I will. If you still want me to, that is," he added quickly. "I would understand if you'd rather our paths not cross again - "

"No," Thomas said abruptly, trying not to appear over eager and failing entirely. He reached out to grasp for James' arm, gripped by the sudden and irrational fear that he'd change his mind. "Of course I want your help James. And, well," he hesitated, aware the ground beneath them was still rather uneven, "more than that, if you wish it."

James blinked at him a moment, eyes wide, mouth parted as if he couldn't believe his luck. It was miles form the gruff and brash sailor who'd come to his rescue last night. Thomas was drawn to both facets of him equally. "I do."

Thomas smiled, squeezed his hand tighter around James' sleeve for a second before letting go. "Good."

They spoke no more of it for a time, just walked along the shoreline together, the figurative air between them cleared, and sharing small snatches of their lives. 

"I've been more at home on water than land for as long as I can remember," James said as they walked, hands behind his back, "I wouldn't change it for anything. But I still sometimes wonder if I couldn't make more of myself..." he stopped then, embarrassed by the admission, mouth tight and flush brought back across his cheek in full force. "Sorry, I don't mean to bore you. You don't need to hear about my trifling dissatisfactions."

"Yes I do," said Thomas firmly, without a moment's doubt. There was no use in denying it, he found everything James did and said intriguing. There was not one aspect of him Thomas thought he'd ever find trifling. "Don't belittle yourself, James. There is much to you that is admirable. You're a good man, and a clever one, and I firmly believe your help in this endeavour will be invaluable."

James looked taken aback by Thomas' tirade, but didn't argue against it, as Thomas had expected. "Thank you."

"I mean it," Thomas said, softening. "But it's my pleasure. Now, breakfast. Old Brown may not look it, but he's rather adept in the kitchen." 

Perhaps this time, he would keep his promise to leave town more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I am guilty of overusing:  
> \- Freckles  
> \- Blushing  
> \- James being thicc


End file.
